


Untitled

by bitterstolenrelic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I'm not sure if I'm sorry for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterstolenrelic/pseuds/bitterstolenrelic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I RP Lucifer sometimes, and my Gabriel and I were going to start an RP and I wanted something bad to happen to Lucifer for a change. This was it. The way we play it, angels go to purgatory when they're killed.</p>
<p>Archangels are typically supposed to have six wings, but two of Lucifer's were torn off by Michael in the Cage. I don't know how they got out okay this is completely unrelated and later so just don't ask me thank you for reading.</p>
<p>I'm too lazy for a title, forgive me. And I'm sorry for how I play Lucifer, I just wanted to put this up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Even angels had weaknesses, and could be tricked. It took work, the work of several humans that had mysteriously gotten their hands on angel blades - Lucifer blamed himself for not just dying sooner and causing so many of his brothers and sisters to be killed in the years following the would-be apocalypse. Summoning was possible, but not easy. Nearly impossible. But they managed it. Trapped in a ring of holy fire, the devil hissed, flaring his wings, then drawing them back in when the flames singed him. 

The humans that had tricked him were cruel, nearly as bad as he was always accused of being, and any time he stepped closer to the edge, they splashed holy oil on his wings. It only needed to happen a few times before the pain wracked through his entire being - every atom, every bit of his cosmic wavelength - and he was on the ground, trying to pull his tattered wings in to protect them from further harm. 

One with a jug of oil - one who seemed to be a priest - was holding one of the blades, and he pointed it at Lucifer. "Rise, devil, so we may put an end to you, once and for all," he growled, with the voice of a man who smoked a pack a day for far too long. Lucifer glared, demony white eyes bright in the shadow of his brow, but he slowly got to his feet, bleeding wings tight to his back no matter how much it pained him. 

"You can't kill an angel, fool," he snarled back, panting heavily as every breath hurt. "And when I come back, the first thing I'm going to do is make sure you know what your own spine tastes like."

The few humans congregated gasped, like they couldn't believe that the devil had issued such a threat. They were convinced that his death would be final.

"I'll make you a deal," he purred, in that voice that only Lucifer could use to sell sins to a saint. "You give me an angel blade, and I'll stand before you with open arms. If you don't, you can guarantee that you'll never have a chance to touch me before you die."

A woman - short, cropped hair, Lucifer made note of her face to harm her later as well - stepped forward. "We have no reason to believe you! You're fucking _Satan_! An affront to honesty and truth, why should we-"

The priest held up his hand, gesturing for one of the other blades. "If we're dead, he can't cross the flames. We can't cross the flames to kill him without fear of him killing us first." A blade was handed over to him, and he reluctantly held it out to Lucifer. The archangel grinned, slipping it into a pocket. No point in going to purgatory unarmed, especially since he refused to carry a blade most of the time.

He stepped forward, arms and wings spread. "Do what you feel you have to do, _holy man_ ," he said smoothly, emphasizing the words with a smirk. The priest didn't hesitate, jamming his blade up into Lucifer's beating heart. Lucifer couldn't help the scream that left him - dying _hurt_ , dammit - but after a few flashes of an inhumanly bright light, he crumpled back onto the floor, dead.

 

He woke, still feeling the phantom pain, and slowly got to his feet. Every last sense was on alert, and he knew exactly where he was. He could sense horrible creatures around him, and he took the blade from his pocket, shifting it in his hand. His wings were visible, and he couldn't hide them. Previously six, four after the Cage, tattered, singed, bloody, and mangled, they were more of a liability to him than anything else. He tried to keep them close, but every time he moved them, it hurt like the fire had. The archangel gritted his teeth, breathing heavily, before he moved, seeking out an easily defensible spot before he decided to tear his remaining wings from his shoulders himself.


End file.
